Frankie was down for getting some practice in, and his suggestion aligned perfectly with what Holland had been planning to do. They nodded and set their wand down beside their broom, which was leaning against one of the goalposts. “Good, that’s what I wanted to work on. Reflexes and stuff.”

The other skill that needed some work was no-hands flying. Holland wasn’t bad in the air, but it was a problem when they had to completely let go of the broomstick. The fifth-year had faith in a lot of things, but the strength of their thigh muscles was not one of those things. Taking both hands off the broom made them feel very much in danger of being knocked out of the sky in a second—not an unreasonable fear, with the constant threat of Bludgers and crazy Beaters. Unfortunately, Keepers really needed both hands to block, so the fear of hitting the ground very hard got in the way of making good saves.

But for now, focus on the catching. Maybe if they got better at passing drills, that part of their brain could take over during matches and they wouldn’t have time to think about the falling-to-their-death thing.

Holland tucked the long part of their hair—they’d tried something fancy with it today, and it was softly cycling through different pastel colors—behind their ear. They’d been all dressed up earlier (literally, in a dress with half sleeves), but had changed into black yoga pants and a gray t-shirt with a picture of a planet captioned Out of this binary. Mom had gotten Really Into acknowledging Holland’s gender stuff around the time they hit puberty, and liked to show her support with appropriately-sloganed graphic tees. Dad was supportive too, but his solidarity was more along the lines of correcting people who misgendered his child, with even less patience for repeat offenders than Holland had. They didn’t totally get everything, but they hadn’t screwed anything up in Holland’s eyes. And the Lyra really appreciated the shirts.

They tossed the Quaffle to their Housemate, trying to match his stance. Even though he played Beater, Frankie seemed comfortable enough playing any position. It was what made him a great captain—what would make him a pro-quality Quidditch player. “Have a good break?” Holland called, hands up to catch Frankie’s return pass.

When Holland said that they had wanted to work on reflexes and stuff Frankie grinned at them. “Good!” Frankie replied happily as he began to stretch. He didn’t want to pull anything there were a few... more

The nice thing about an underground school was that the weather system was entirely its own. So while winter still had its tendrils on Pearl Street, the Quidditch Pitch provided an outdoor-ish area... more

“ Nothing too earth shattering, ” Frankie said, doing a perfect impression of someone who had had an earth-shattering break and wanted to hide it. If Holland was talking to Danny or Emmett or Marissa ... more

Frankie groaned when he noticed Francine coming near Holland and him. Francine was the last person Frankie wanted to see now. It wasn’t that the seventh year hated his fellow seventh year he just... more

Holland passed her the Quaffle. I’m in. Their response was about what she’d been expecting: playful, but indicative of a negative. Nothing that read whether or not Holland actually wanted to be more... more

Holland was mostly joking in their answer to Francine, which made it all the more baffling when Frankie got absurdly defensive about it. RMI’s rumor mill was quick, myopic, and inaccurate, much like... more

Frankie narrowed his eyes at Francine while she fumbled through her answer of why she cared. The seventh year was not in the mood for this. He caught the Quaffle easily, glad to have it back under... more